Angry Workin' Man's Refrain
by cagd
Summary: Ever wonder what made Lindsey return to L.A. to take his throne back or die trying?


The only thing your daddy ever   
Gave you was his ol' truck;  
Same damn truck you once left  
This dusty one horse town in,  
Rarin' to go, ready to show 'em  
What your no account daddy's son  
Could do in the big wide world.  
Too bad once you left Oklahoma  
Things weren't much different.  
You had to show them  
UC Hastings motherfuckers what  
A lil 'ol country boy from  
Backwoods Oklahoma could do-  
'Cause you weren't no candyass  
Rich kid whose daddy could  
BUY him a degree and a soft life.  
Buy? You? A degree?  
_Hell no!_ Your ol' man was  
Flat dirt shit _broke_,  
Nothin' but dust in his pockets!

_And the newspaper clipping, his sneering face on it,_  
_Rustles back and forth on the worn seat beside you_  
_With every jolt of your pickup truck_  
_Stained green by the AM dashboard radio light_  
_While Waylon, Willy, and Johnny Cash_  
_Snarl out one long angry workin'-man's refrain._

So you hunkered down and   
Did for yourself:  
Waitin' tables,  
Haulin' garbage,  
Mowin' some rich fuck's lawn-  
Studyin' for the Bar in between.  
While Frat Boy and his buddies  
Spent summers backpacking Europe  
You worked the canneries;  
Tossin' fish off boats for pennies;  
The whole time sleepin' in the cab  
Of your daddy's truck.  
The Oklahoma dust in the worn  
Upholstery makin' you sneeze  
Every time you rolled over.  
Anyway you did it, _you did it,_  
You made it through Harvard,  
Passed the Bar on your own guts  
Yeah, buddy, doin' without,  
And gettin' the prize.  
Yeah, buddy, gettin' the prize!

_And the newspaper clipping, his sneering face on it,_  
_Rustles back and forth on the worn seat beside you_  
_With every jolt of your pickup truck_  
_Stained green by the AM dashboard radio light_  
_While Waylon, Willy, and Johnny Cash_  
_Snarl out one long angry workin'-man's refrain_  
_Beneath the colorless prairie moon._

The right people saw you,  
Saw your hard work.   
They said, "We got a place for  
A smart young man like you-  
You'll go straight to the top!"  
So you said, "Be glad to, sirs!"   
Then you drove your daddy's  
Old truck down to L.A.,  
Memories of the dusty  
Oklahoma wind blowin' behind,  
Pushin' you straight to  
To the Promised Land at last!  
But it wasn't the goddamned  
Dust that drove you there,  
_You_ drove _you_ there-  
No longer for you, an Oakie,  
Takin' on jobs only a Mexican'd do.  
No sir, you earned this reward  
At the end of the rainbow  
With your own sweat and sacrifice.  
Shedding dust as you went.

_And the newspaper clipping, his sneering face on it,_  
_Rustles back and forth on the worn seat beside you_  
_With every jolt of your pickup truck_  
_Stained green by the AM dashboard radio light_  
_While Waylon, Willy, and Johnny Cash_  
_Snarl out one long angry workin'-man's refrain_  
_Beneath the colorless prairie moon._

So what'd you get in the end  
For all your sweat?  
Your sacrifice?  
_Not a goddamned thing!_  
'Cause you let some  
Long dead rich man's son  
With big ideas  
Steal your job,  
Your hand,  
Your woman,  
Hell, your pride-  
Made you look like a goatroper!  
Yeah, goddam _peckerwood_  
Slapped you down,  
Sent you packin', like a good boy, back  
To the unforgivin' town you'd left behind,  
Then what'd peckerwood do,  
After all them self-righteous speeches  
'Bout doin' what's right?  
He done stole everything  
You'd worked for, _dammit!_

_And the newspaper clipping, his sneering face on it,_  
_Rustles back and forth on the worn seat beside you_  
_With every jolt of your pickup truck_  
_Stained green by the AM dashboard radio light_  
_While Waylon, Willy, and Johnny Cash_  
_Snarl out one long angry workin'-man's refrain_  
_Beneath the colorless prairie moon._

With a grind of old gears,  
You stand on it, kickin' up dust,  
Headin' for the Interstate  
To Texas,  
Then Mexico.   
There's people down there  
That know shit, shit that'll  
Get you yours back;  
You ain't no candyass, drivin' and  
Cryin' 'cause some motherfucker  
Done run you out of L.A.  
With nothin' to your name  
But this here ol' pickup truck  
With the dust blowin' out the engine  
Every time you start it-  
No, you get things done.  
Always have. Always will.  
And peckerwood?  
When you get done with him,  
Peckerwood'll be nothin' but dust  
Blowin' in the Oklahoma wind.

_And the newspaper clipping, his sneering face on it,_  
_Blows unheeded out the passenger window_  
_Of your dusty beat up pickup truck, no longer_  
_Stained green by the AM dashboard radio light_  
_While Waylon, Willy, and Johnny Cash_  
_Snarl out one long angry workin'-man's refrain._  
_Beneath the colorless prairie moon._

* * *

Lindsey has always unsettled me, and when he left town the first time in a truck wearing a coat that was all too familiar, I finally understood why. What hints you get of his childhood, made it even more familiar. I've known Lindseys just as I have known Reillys. A Lindsey will not sit still for long if he feel's somebody's pissing on his leg and telling him it's raining. Viewed in this light, Lindsey's return in Season 5 of Angel as a vengeful trickster, makes perfect sense. 

And anyway, how did Lindsey, out in the boonies, find out Angel had taken over the L.A. branch of Wolfram and Hart? Perhaps an unknown "benefactor" sent him a clipping?

As to dialect and attitude, I thank a freelance Oklahoma trucker who used to deliver stuff to a store I once worked at. He spoke with a long, slow drawl and moved no faster than he had to until there was a need to. Once there was a need, get out of the way because his sense of determination made him a juggernaut.


End file.
